


Only Sometimes

by onlyangels (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Addiction, Angst, Bad Ideas, Dissociation, Drug Abuse, F/M, Gen, Grand theft auto, Grief, Mental Health Issues, Morgan is a Fucking Delight, Peter Parker has Brain Issues, Self Injurous Behavior, Suicidal Ideation, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, endgame spoilers, i try to use my vague knowledge of video games and nerd culture to shape Peter’s personality, stick and poke tattoos, teenagers being stupid, wanting to Destroy Thanos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-02-29 15:18:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18780886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/onlyangels
Summary: Aftermath of Endgame.Peter deals with the dark corners of his head and Morgan likes action figures.





	1. Chapter 1

Peter stood behind Morgan as she held her mother’s hand and nothing but the atoms inbetween could separate them. Nothing could tear them apart anymore, no amount of grief, no amount of universal power. 

Peter held May’s hand and squeezed. He let go when she offered to stop by a tea shop he liked. He wanted nothing more than to go home and curl into his sheets, sheets he hadn’t seen in five years, an apartment he hadn’t seen in five years. 

When he saw May for the first time in five years, she looked older, like she’d lost a son. She had, she had lost every little bit of life she held dear. She kept their apartment, she kept his memory as near as she could. 

He said yes to tea anyways, just to see May smile again. He ordered an iced chai and relished in the cardamom and ginger. It warmed his heart as he let himself fall into the easy rhythm of listening to May, listening to her daily struggle, the jokes they used to share coming back to the surface. Peter felt a little more like himself, if he could forget, just forget being spider-man. 

He wished, not for the first time after Thanos, that he had never taken Mr.Stark up on Berlin. He wished to have dealt with the world on his own, like he had been doing. 

He sometimes wished the building that’d been dropped on his shoulders had crushed him. But that was only sometimes. When his mind didn’t think about anything, he filled it with thinking about dying. Thinking about snapping his fingers and bringing Mr.Stark back. Maybe bringing Thanos back too so he could — 

Or he could just stop right there and Never Think About Thanos Again. He didn’t know which option was more appealing. Peter realized a long time ago, when Ben died, maybe even before, that rage was a motivation he could rarely ignore. But after he peeked up the rage, there was only pure exhaustion left behind. 

Peter was tired of exhaustion, and he’d technically just had a five year nap. Sucks to be him. 

May kept talking about her job, and he kept his attention on how her hair fell to the side and how she looked older in black. How he looked younger in black, like he was 13 again and loss was only a second blow to the head. Third times a charm he guessed. Three strikes and you’re out. 

He wished his third strike had been his own death, but only figuratively. Because he knew, he knew what his thoughts meant. His head hurt with the idea but it was there nonetheless. He was tempted to stop May mid sentence and yell, and scream at her that he was breaking down and that it hurt it hurt it hurt. 

But he stayed quiet and listened to May’s soothing distraction. He listened to future, full of terror, fear of commitment, because of the what if? What if everything fell apart? What if he wasn’t good enough? What if Mr.Stark was wrong? 

Doubtful, but still, he worried in blank spaces where his thoughts resided. 

They left the tea shop, having grabbed some herbal Chinese blueberry tea for his “nerves” as May had said. He honestly hoped it helped, along with a prescription of Zoloft. 

Maybe he could ask around for a Xanax? 

Or he could tell May he wanted to die and let the Big Bad Thoughts About This Being His Fault come through the cracks. He could pick at them until they fell out but they would just scab over and form again. 

Telling May would solve nothing, he knew he knew he knew. 

So he carried the tea home and held May’s hand and watched shitty reality TV. He wondered which Kardashians had been dusted. He wondered if he could call Ned’s number and listen to his voice. He wished he could ask May about his friends. Friend. He stayed silent and let the evening happen to him. 

He fell asleep on May’s lap and let darkness relax into the corners of his head.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up staring at a small brown stain on the ceiling, it was like water had leaked there a little bit. Like a bug had been squished on that spot. 

When he went to get up his head felt like shit and his mouth was dry. May had wrapped a blanket around him and taken off his shoes. A post it note by the coffee table said she’d already left work with an” I love you, Peter” and a smiley face. He felt a little surge of affection for her, a reminder that she was there, alive, and always kept him close, no matter the price she had to pay. Recently that price had been steep, he refused to let her in on how much she was really missing. How much it hurt. 

Peter got himself ready for the day. He stared at his eyes for too long, broke a mug trying to make that Chinese tea, and watched his gums start to bleed when he finished flossing. It didn’t hurt. 

God, he sounded edgy in his own inner voice. Or was it called a monologue? 

He hadn’t even gotten properly dressed and he was ready for a coma, or at least a three hour nap. He thought maybe he’d call — 

He’d call no one and sit in front of the TV and maybe order Thai food. Or he’d get Greek food and save some for May. She enjoyed a good gyro. Or — 

He stopped himself, his hands gripping the sink as his gums bled and the mug was broken broken broken. He felt nothing as it had slipped through his fingers, nothing as he watched it shatter, nothing as the shards scattered and hit his feet. 

Peter thought that maybe breaking a mug would be a good reason to hang himself from the fan in his bedroom. But he also could do without May seeing that, he could do without her having to deal with losing him again. 

He got dressed and listened to a DnD podcast he used to listen to, neither of the girls that ran it had gotten dusted. So he picked up where he left off, five years ago. He listened to their obvious grief, listened to the deflation in their enthusiasm and was suddenly overcome with the need to hug them and say thank you for going on. Going when others faltered. He wished he could say the same to Mr.Stark. 

He wished for a lot of things. 

Walking down the streets of Queens he brought his hood up and avoided the small and steady flow of people on the side walks. He met the eyes of a few passing people and let the steps he was taking melt into the cement. It was like he was sinking further into the ground with every movement, every breath, every blink. 

The exhaustion hit him again when he hit the corner store a few blocks away from the apartment. A man sat on the fold out chairs by the entrance, his cigar flicking in and out of shining embers, brighter than the sun in Peter’s focus. Everything was heightened and blurred all at once. Like he was on PCP and had alcohol poisoning at the same time. 

It was horrible and he wanted nothing more than for it all to stop. 

“Peter?” The hair on his neck rose up, his fingers twitched and his knuckles cracked. There wasn’t danger, but the voice was so familiar, it was like listening to a recording that made him feel old and weary. 

“MJ?” He turned to face her, her face was a little sad, mostly she looked refreshed, like the sun was hitting her in all the right places, beaming off of her like it wasn’t worthy enough to touch her. 

(Woah, little too deep there, Shakespeare.)

She looked — well, she looked like she always did and he smiled. Teeth and all, as he went to greet her properly for the first time in five years. 

“Did you -?” She gestured at him and made a wave motion, like he was meant to be floating away. 

“Yeah, you too?” MJ nodded and then shook a little, her eyes meeting his, interested, like she was taking in this moment for all it was worth. 

Peter sure was. He was drinking in seeing her, seeing someone who didn’t know what he’d been through, what’d he’d seen. He looked down at his hands and up at MJ, smiling again, maybe he could fix something, not himself, but his life. 

“Do you wanna grab lunch?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope these really short chapters don’t bug anyone, I’m trying to make them longer but it’s really hard, oops. Please let me know what you think and stay safe when reading! Read the tags!

They’re sat across from each other, MJ’s eyes staring very intently at the menu even though she’d already ordered. Her eyes were scanning and — 

They met his and he gulped audibly. 

“Nervous?” She asked. 

“Never.” She raised an eyebrow in response. 

“How’s being back?” She asked instead, while still looking at the menu. He didn’t know how to respond and he silently begged for the food to arrive. 

“Fine, it’s - different.” 

“I think it’s happier now.” She put down the menu, her eyes were digging for something and it made his skin crawl. 

“Is it?” 

“There aren’t as many people actively killing each other, I mean, I’ve never been one to look on the bright side, but at least people are back to being alive. Back to being whole.” He cleared his throat and nodded, the food arrived soon after. 

They’d stopped at a hole in the wall Greek place, something he’d have to show May. Or maybe it was somewhere she’d found alone, when she had no one to tell when she got home. 

Thinking was exhausting and it made his head spin spin spin. 

“Chickpea gyro? Looks good,” She commented and picked at her salad. 

“How were your parents? Did they-?” 

“They didn’t get - they didn’t go anywhere. My sister graduated before everyone came back, she’s in Thailand now, with the Peace Corp.” 

“Nice,” She smiled in agreement and the tension was weighing heavy, he watched as she stabbed some romaine lettuce and had a passing thought about Ecoli. 

He had passing thoughts about dying too but he tried to pay more attention to MJ, she had moved on from the awkwardness, pushed forward until they were chatting like the snap had never happened. He wished he could push far enough to forget. Peter might’ve thought the only way to do that would be to disappear. 

They finished their meal and parted ways, promising to meet each other once school began again, he hoped to make it until then, so he wouldn’t break another promise. He’d promised not to die and he went and did it anyways, he had let people suffer because he couldn’t stay in one piece. 

He refused to let it happen again. 

So he impulse cleaned the apartment, making sure every inch was spotless, he put May’s clothes to wash, folded things mindlessly and cooked a vegan pad thai for May to come home to. He wanted things to be in control. Everything outside of his hands was still spinning spinning spinning. 

May came home to a sparkling apartment and cold pad thai. Peter was shaking in his room, waiting for the door to open, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He wanted to scream until his throat bled and until someone came to get him. 

But May only knocked on his bedroom door, asking if he was okay. She didn’t barge in, asking where her mess of a boy had gone. 

No one had come to get him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don’t know what I’m doing and most of these chapters should be combined but I also want to post so . . .

School let back in for another semester. Happy had driven him to the gates and let him go without so much as a word. It was infuriatingly familiar, except for the steadily graying hair on Happy’s head and the existence of Morgan in her car seat beside him, on her way to school as well. 

She’d been reading, already ahead for her age, and going to her first day of kindergarten. The worn copy of a Clifford book was in her hands and she muttered the words to herself (and to Peter) at least three times during the ride. Peter would never admit it but the repetition of the words and the sound of the pages shuffling with every clumsy movement of Morgan’s hands calmed him. He needed something repetitive, Morgan provided and when he went to leave the car she’d grabbed his hoodie,

“You’re coming back?” She’d asked, her eyes looking at him like MJ had, like they were looking for a secret he wasn’t ready to tell. A secret he probably would never be able to tell. Dragging himself out of her grip, he nodded and left. Her eyes still watching him, brown like MJ’s and brown like — 

But he didn’t like to think about him, he didn’t like to think about anything. It made his heart hurt and made his skull start to throb. 

His day went by, he saw MJ give hugs, and Ned exchange new numbers with a few of their old friends, people that hadn’t survived. 

He felt a pain in his chest and it spread all over, he hugged Ned, fist bumped MJ and let the world set over him. He hoped the white noise of people chattering would soothe the burn, but nothing changed as the day dragged on with new faces amongst the old. Some of the most brilliant minds of the century could be housed in his school, they probably were, but they were still just a face in the crowd. Everyone was a face in the crowd and for some reason it irked Peter. It bothered him to his core where he still felt as if he was burning. 

He wished he could stop burning. He wished his head could stick out amongst the crowd and someone could see him. Ned saw him and MJ did. MJ even saw him in the middle of Queens, in the middle of the Brand New World that was both old and new, both sad and happy. He thought for minute that maybe that’s how it had always been. But then he remembered what had been lost, what sacrifices had been made. 

Peter fell on his face, tripped on his shoelace and ate shit. It’s probably what most people got when they were inside their own heads too much, when they were surrounded by so many hypotheticals that it started to hurt. 

A feminine laugh came from behind him and a hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Peter? You good?” MJ asked, her smile could be heard in her voice. 

“Yeah, fine, totally good!” He sputtered back to her, getting up to his feet with her hand to guide him. He glanced weakly to his shoelaces, they were still untied. 

“You might want to fix that.” She deadpanned. Right. Things were supposed to be Normal and Good. People were Alive and Not Not Alive. He fixed his shoelaces and gave a lopsided smile, MJ smiled back and it seemed real, she seemed real. 

He and MJ walked the rest of the hallway together, waving an awkward goodbye at the staircase where their paths parted. Peter was relieved, he was away from prying brown eyes, eyes that were too familiar. The burn in his chest hadn’t subsided either, just the thoughts in his head had gotten quieter, a small reprieve. 

The school day continued and his head was playing him. It was days like these he’d text Tony, ask him a question and get lost in intelligent conversation. 

He missed him. He missed being able to relate to someone without having to talk about it, he wished he’d gotten to scream all the things that made Tony important to him from every rooftop in Queens. He wished he was dead so he could yell at Tony for dying when he needed him the most. 

Fuck the universe, and fuck Thanos. 

Peter Parker wanted and wished that another person would come back from the dead for him. But it didn’t work for his parents, it didn’t work for Ben, and it would never work for Tony Stark, buried six feet under while his daughter grew up as another lonely genius, and his widow suffered a loss like none other while the world rejoiced.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe comment to let me know what you think? I appreciate any and all feedback!


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